


' i'm not melodramatic '

by JUBILEE_L1NE



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Chicken, M/M, Not Beta Read, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27858210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JUBILEE_L1NE/pseuds/JUBILEE_L1NE
Summary: "Depends." Tommy says, a little too quick for his own liking. Wilbur raises his brow as well, the TV show in the background going to some sort of commercial."Depends?" Wilbur asks, obviously interested. Tommy can't help but think he's got endurance, considering the last thing Tommy wants to do is explain how his stupid mate's play gay chicken.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit
Comments: 46
Kudos: 513





	' i'm not melodramatic '

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by my friends playing gay chicken not so ironically, that's it, that's the post

"You really _haven't_ played gay chicken before?" He asks, eyes wide as he stares towards brown eyes. They're not dull, not like normal brown eyes are. Or maybe there's just something else about them, something that makes them different then the regular old brown eyes most girls at his collage had.

Maybe it's the brown curly hair, messy and unkept that gives the brown eyes originally. It's the type of look that could only suit one person—he's seriously thought about this, debating whether or not Tubbo would ever be able to match the same look.

He always comes to the same conclusion, but he feels like that makes him sound insane—sure, _Wilbur_ is the only one able to pull his style off, but it's not weird if he thinks the style is charming. Or handsome. _Right?_

Tons of fans felt the same way—so why would it be any different, especially if he kept it in the back of his mind, never vocalizing it out loud. _Especially_ to Wilbur. 

Wilbur seems confused, head tilted to the side ever so slightly. He's not wearing his glasses—rarely wears his glasses whenever he's around—but there's an obvious imprint against both sides of his nose if Tommy looked hard enough.

He can't help but look, sue him.

Apparently Wilbur's lenses were fucked—it was one of the many topics they found themselves talking about, mere moment's after Wilbur had opened his front door to Tommy. He was staying over for a week, his mother and father leaving on a business trip.

Sure, he could have stayed home _alone—but_ he _didn't_ want to. He actually suggested Wilbur, since his mother was constantly talking about how cute 'that young tall brunette' was. 

Cute isn't the word Tommy would use. He isn't sure what word he'd use, but he knows for a fact it's not _cute._

Somehow the topic moved from glasses to Tommy's phone blowing up. Not _literally,_ of course—just forgot to silence it like a fucking idiot, his friends deciding to spam their groupchat out of no where.

He wasn't private, not really. Didn't _mind_ opening his phone out in front of Wilbur, reading the first message out loud—which maybe was his first of many mistakes. See, he's _not_ private. He has no _reason_ to be private, it's Wilbur for fucksake, one of his closest friend's he's made over the past year. 

But he's genuinely _awkward,_ even if he manages to be charmingly awkward as so many of his peers have told him. The first message was something he barely got through, his eyes widening after a good portion of the word's had left his lips.

"Well why don't _you_ come over here and _suck_ my—Oh jesus fucking _hell,_ they're playing it again." He could feel himself heating up his head shaking ever so slightly as he laughed it off. 

Wilbur just gawked, Tommy leaning over on the couch they were both sat on to show the message. "Eryn and Linu have been playing a game of gay chicken since like, _last_ month. They haven't received really gotten far but neither of them have lost." 

The older male seemed to nod, almost as if he were trying to understand. Tommy paused, pulling his phone away before rasing his brow—the rest is history, really, Tommy asking Wilbur if he even _knew_ what gay chicken is.

"I'm more so confused as to why they're playing it, and being weirdly public with it." Wilbur admitted, his noise scrunching up a bit as he leaned in towards Tommy. "Not that it's a _bad_ thing, just.."

He paused, as if he were looking for the right words—Tommy with an idea as brilliant as always saved no time in butting in, as per usual. The idea? Get off of this topic as soon as _possible—he_ could probably start talking about McDonald's, save Wilbur the _trouble_ of dealing with second hand embarrassment, it seems. 

"You've never played gay chicken, so obviously you wouldn't _understand."_ He declares oh so confidently, a grin spread across his lips.

Wilbur snorts, actually fucking _snorts—and_ Tommy quickly realizes he might have backed himself up into a corner he can't escape from. Not that he feels like he's at risk, he doesn't think he could feel that around Wilbur.

Not that he wanted to be proved wrong, either, he was _comfortable_ with how things were currently.

"And _you_ have?" That's enough to make him faulter. It's not a genuine question, it's rhetorical. He knows it's _rhetorical._

Which is why he answers it. To mess with Wilbur. Not because he's just, so taken aback that they're actually having a conversation like this. 

"No, not really, Big Man." He says, and it's not like they haven't had conversations like this. It's as _normal_ as asking someone if they've been to a cool coffee shop, old people shit, right? Nothing weird about _it—nothing weird at all._

Wilbur does in fact look shocked by the fact he responds, _genuine_ without any real _hesitation._ Tommy takes it as an achievement, as if this was all some big game—obviously he was winning, considering he's yet to be left _speechless._

Until he is.

"What are the rules to this stupid game again?" Wilbur asks, and Tommy raises a brow. It's a simple, _innocent_ question—but nothing about Wilbur is that _innocent._ He's learnt whenever Wilbur asks something, going with it is always the best option—but that doesn't mean it's the safest option.

It's just the option he _likes._

"Depends." Tommy says, a little too quick for his own liking. Wilbur raises his brow as well, the TV show in the background going to some sort of commercial.

Really, Tommy couldn't even begin to think about what the TV show had even been about, or how long it had been playing—Wilbur just always seemed to have background noise, something Tommy honestly didn't mind.

_"Depends?"_ Wilbur asks, obviously interested. Tommy can't help but think he's got endurance, considering the last thing Tommy wants to do is explain how his stupid mate's play gay chicken.

But he can't say no to Wilbur.

"Yeah, Big Man. There's like _four_ different ways I know of, like _versions_ of the game and shit." He states, leaning against the leather couch with a shrug. "The rules are all pretty much the same, though. First one to pull away or not reciprocate an action is the gay chicken. The version Linu and uh, Eryn play.." Tommy began to trail off, watching as Wilbur's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"The _uhm,"_ He says, scratching the back of his neck ever so slightly. "Winner, _yeah,_ get's to have the loser do whatever the winner wants. Within reason, y'know, like if I were to play they couldn't just scam me outta my money if I _theoretically_ lost, y'know?"

Wilbur only chuckles at this, shaking his head. "So you've thought about _losing,_ huh?" It's the teasing tone which always enthralls Tommy, the friendly bullying he's grown so accustomed to. He'd _bask_ in it if possible, there's really no reason not to. It'd just be weird. _Awkward._ Strange, especially considering it's _Wilbur._

"Shut up, " He mumbles out, shaking his head ever so slightly. "Do you want to know more about this or _not,_ Wilbur? Because I'm about equally as ready to go and raid your fridge," He finally manages out, and Wilbur softly nods.

"Yeah, what do you mean there's _four_ versions?" Wilbur asks, inquisitive and serious and—God, what has he gotten himself into. 

"Uh, the first is like a party game. Not long term, y'know? It's just to prove you're the ultimate straight man in the room, usually just kissing and shit. Someone usually pulls away before lips _touch."_ Tommy rambles, standing up. "You better have something that doesn't need to be cooked, I don't want to burn down your house." He admits.

Mostly he needs to distract himself, can't look into Wilbur's eyes and take him seriously well he's explaining something so.. stupid.

"Yeah, makes sense. There should be by the way, I do need to go grocery shopping if you want regular fruit and veggies though." Wilbur yells back, staying sat, clearly quite comfortable.

That makes one of them.

"Another way is just, kinda _fucking_ with eachother jokingly. Usually it doesn't actually happen, but it's like Eryn telling our mate to suck his dick, y'know?" Tommy says, opening the fridge door. He makes sure he's loud enough Wilbur can actually hear him, but not loud enough he's pissing off the downstairs neighbors in the apartment complex Wilbur lives in.

"Like what Dream, Sapnap and George all do?" Wilbur questions, seemingly absent mindedly. It earns a grin from Tommy either way.

"Yeah! _Exactly!_ It increases bromance levels, important for any _woman loving bro."_ He jokes, clearly not being fully serious—and woah, there's _jello?_ Strawberry _Jello?_ Shit, he was being _spoiled._

"Uhhhh, there's Pillow Talk gay chicken, that's a classic—it's also like the other one, but it's based on who laughs first. It's like a speed-round. The other can be played for like, month's, but this one is more in-line with drinking games." He continues to mumble out, grabbing the untouched jello. He pulls it out of the fridge, setting it on the counter before grabbing a spoon.

He already knows it's for him, Wilbur doesn't like jello unless it's on _buttered_ toast. Disgusting, he thinks, a little too slimey for his liking.

"Oh yeah, and the last one is where physical contact is like, actually allowed. It's like the _2b2t_ version of gay chicken." Tommy admits, bringing a spoonful of jello towards his lips.

He basically fucking inhales it, grinning from ear to ear. Within five seconds he's got jello on his face, shamelessly pigging out. Probably should have actually eaten breakfast, now that he thinks about it. 

That's when he realizes Wilbur's been awfully silent. He pauses, setting his spoon down before swallowing what's already in his mouth. "Wilbur?" He mumbles out, turning around and—

He nearly dies. Wilbur's stood behind him, quite literally just giving him enough room to turn around without bumping into him awkwardly. Wilbur just smiles.

And his hand reaches up, and—he wipes some of the jello from Tommy's face, chuckling ever so slightly as he does so.

"Let's play gay chicken, _gayinnit."_

Tommy can't help but nod, truly becoming speechless for a moment or so before cursing Wilbur out over the gayinnit thing.

* * *

It's two hours later when Tommy realizes he has no _fucking_ clue which version they're playing. It's obviously not the bar game versions, those only work _spontaneously_ and within a group circle, or something.

He figures it's probably the fucking with eachother one, although it's been strangely quite. Sure, Wilbur is still around him—fuck, they're acting pretty normal, but it feels _weird._

_Maybe he's just tense?_

It's not that he's against playing gay chicken—he really isn't _against_ it, and Wilbur taking his gay chicken virginity wasn't so bad, he just didn't know what to expect. 

So when he's gladly washing the dishes—Wilbur has the _coolest_ dishwasher, that's really the only reason—he definitely doesn't expect Wilbur to place his hands on his waist.

He's behind him, Tommy can't even see him, but Wilbur's hands are pressed firm on his waist. His thumbs gently rub between the fabric of his red and white shirt, and Tommy nearly dies right then and there again.

Very rarely is he touched. He doesn't do hugs and shit, not _normally,_ hasn't even bothered giving his mother one in years. His skin practically feels on fire when Wilbur touches it—and then he just feels, for lack of a _better_ word, sensitive.

He almost would be in the right mind to lean into the touch. It feels _weirdly_ good.

Instead he sets the plate he's holding down, momentarily rinses off his hands before turning his head around. It's just enough so that he can see Wilbur.

He's got a cocky smirk on his face, as if he's already winning. Tommy pauses, debating whether or not he should splash Wilbur with _water—_

He doesn't. Instead he reaches his hand up to cup Wilbur's cheek, lovingly stroking it with this thumb. It's weirdly soft, and he luckily get's to watch Wilbur's face contort from _oh so confident_ to blatantly _confused._

Maybe Tommy get's cocky—maybe that's why he leans in ever so slightly, straightening his posture a good bit before _whispering_ into Wilbur's ear.

"If you're going to try and distract me from washing the dishes, you can help me do them, too." He says jokingly, leaning back as Wilbur chuckled.

_"Shit,_ I figured I had you, considering you didn't instantly flip around." He admits, shaking his head as he takes his hands off of Tommy's waist, taking a step back.

Tommy removes his hand as well, although he can't say he doesn't miss Wilbur's warmth.

"Try again, Big Man. I'm _legendary_ at this game, I'm the biggest woman lover in all of England, after all." He claims, pointing his thumb towards himself before spinning around, getting right back to doing the dishes as he had been doing before. 

* * *

He's _pinned_ over the kitchen island in Wilbur's apartment complex, hand's on the other man's chest as a kiss is placed on his neck. A fucking _kiss._ It sends chills down his spine as he leaned into Wilbur, hand slowly slipping into his hair. Tommy can't help it, sure this was a game—but pushing Wilbur away would result in him losing, _right?_

If he wanted to win, he needed to comply. So what if he was _enjoying_ complying? 

See, they had both gone to bed—hell, Tommy even _slept._ But then he woke up, made his way out to the kitchen, had a glass of milk—and there was Wilbur at the end of the hall, peering out towards the open fridge. 

He was shirtess, and holy _fuck_ he didn't think Wilbur was actually that toned. Sure, he was strong—there was no doubt in Tommy's mind that Wilbur was strong, but he didn't think he had abs. 

Didn't think he wouldn't be able to look away if he _did_ have abs, either.

Obviously there was only _two_ things to do—close the fridge door and run, or close the fridge door and slap Wilbur's ass. The man probably just woke up, too, and Wilbur was always groggy when he first woke up. 

Tommy had an endless amount of energy, as long as he was well rested. He didn't feel _groggy,_ especially not after having something to drink—so he goes with the second option, considering Wilbur is headed towards him.

"Mmm _mornin',"_ Wilbur had managed to slur out, nearly walking past Tommy to reopen the fridge. Tommy set his glass down on the counter, turning around before he managed to get a loud echoing slap on the other's ass.

Except there was no look of _shock_ from Wilbur. Instead, within mere seconds, Wilbur had pushed him into the Kitchen island's. 

Tommy had pushed himself down further and further, attempting to figure out what the _fuck_ Wilbur was about to do. Originally the hand's had been placed on Wilbur's chest to push him away, admit defeat—but Wilbur moved towards his neck and Tommy ended up _freezing._

There was another light kiss placed before Wilbur began to lower them, and suddenly before Tommy knew it his collar bone was being attacked by little nibbles. A reflex he didn't know he had quickly sprung up, one of his own hand's leaving Wilbur's chest to cover his own mouth, muffling a small moan that decided to slip out.

Instantly Wilbur _stopped,_ his face still lowered to Tommy's collarbone as he slowly glanced up, his hair messier than usual. 

"Are you chickening out _already?"_ He said softly, a total fucking tease—Tommy's breath hitched as he hesitate before slowly pulling his hand away from his mouth. 

"No, I'm not chickening out _and—,"_ Wilbur places a gentle kiss on Tommy's collarbone again, smiling into it ever so slightly. He cuts Tommy off to the point where the poor boy doesn't even remember what he was trying to spew out.

He does know that he ends up trailing his hands over Wilbur's chest, though. It feels right. It's probably not right, probably genuinely _fucked_ up—but he feels safe, feels _protected._

"If you want more you're going to have to beg for it," Wilbur basically fucking _whispers_ and fuck, no, Tommy is definitely hard right now—what the _fuck._ He licks his lips, holding in a deep breath for a moment or so.

He didn't want to fucking _beg,_ he just wanted it to happen—fuck, he didn't even know how to beg. He ends up _staring_ up towards Wilbur, his eyes instantly focused on the brown hue he still feels pulled towards.

_"Please..?"_ He mumbles out, eyes half lulled, feeling about as calm as he's ever felt in his life—and Wilbur just fucking grins. 

It's almost like saying please will be used against him in the _morning—or_ fuck, the rest of his _life._

Is it worth it? _God he hopes so._

"What do you want to do Tommy? What do you want _me_ to do to _you?"_ Wilbur whispers, hands trailing down towards Tommy's waist line. He plays with the hem of Tommy's pajama bottoms, to which Tommy becomes increasingly aware that he doesn't have any fucking shorts on underneath.

For some reason that makes him feel _lewd._

And suddenly he's _nervous,_ a little more nervous then before—he just quickly mumbles out that he'll show Wilbur, rather than fucking try and explain himself.

Wilbur seems to allow it, thank fucking God. 

He begins to bend down, dropping onto his knees—it's not something Tommy's ever done before, fuck he only know it exists because of _crude_ jokes and _porn._ He doesn't know why it's the first thing to come to mind, he could just walk away and call the game over already—obviously at this rate he _wasn't_ going to win.

Not how one would normally win, at least, and the fact he's considering _Wilbur_ touching him like this a win is almost _humiliating._ Definitely something he won't be saying out loud.

As soon as Wilbur realizes what Tommy's going for he clears his throat, managing out a quick "Tommy, _I—,"_ before it's a bit too late.

Tommy pulls down Wilbur's underwear, and holy fucking shit he's really hard. It's too dark for him to actually see everything—God, is it weird to want to see every little _detail?_ Memorize it like he'd never be able to see it again?—but his eyes have adjusted enough for him to be able to see how fucking huge it is.

And thick.

There's veins on the side, Wilbur's head is fucking _beautiful—and_ Tommy can't imagine himself actually doing this, or at least, if you had told him five minutes ago he'd even have a chance to do this he would have fucking laughed. Sure, _Big Man Wilbur_ was going to let him suck his cock—was going to actually touch him, remind him not to silence his _moan._

Yeah, Tommy would have fucking _laughed._

He's obviously not laughing now.

He pauses, spitting into his hand before gently grabbing ahold of Wilbur's cock. He pumps it once or twice before softly pressing a kiss to the shaft, in complete awe of the cock before him. It actually is beautiful, something you'd see straight out of a high tech _porn magazine—except_ this was real. _Wilbur_ was real. 

He gently runs his thumb over the tip, too, before taking Wilbur's head into his mouth. Gently he bobs down, sucking ever so slightly before gently _moaning_ at the taste in his mouth.

That got a reaction, Wilbur holding in a breathy gasp. Tommy managed to look up towards the other man, looking him in the eyes as he gently hummed, bobbing up and down as the slightest bit of drool began to spill down his chin.

_"Tommy_ holy fuck," Wilbur gasped out, Tommy holding in a grin as he attempted to bring Wilbur further into his mouth. It worked, although he could feel himself nearly gag—his mouth felt full as he bobbed up and down, a whole new experience he found himself in.

That didn't stop him from trying, though—sure, he definitely wasn't confident in this situation by any _fucking_ means, but he didn't want to disappoint Wilbur.

He was always attempting to impress Wilbur. Whether it be the first time Tommy began to _pester_ him, or the time he out-smarted the other by streaming on Youtube instead of twitch to win a little bet of sorts, or when he managed to break into Wilbur's office and start a stream _up—he wanted to see Wilbur's reaction._

Wanted to impress Wilbur, as _childish_ as it sounded.

Using his free hand he began to massage Wilbur's balls, a deep breath instantly spilling out from the other man's throat at the new found skin on skin contact. Tommy basked in the sound, attempting to figure out a way to make Wilbur actually _moan—_

Wilbur's hand slips into Tommy's hair just as the blond attempts to deep throat Wilbur's cock, gagging on it as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He managed to suck gently, swirling his tongue around the shaft as he bobbed up and down, attempting to take as much in as possible.

Slowly but surely Wilbur began to guide him, the other gently trusting into his mouth. Tommy can't decide whether or not Wilbur gently playing with his hair is too much of a distraction—almost misses Wilbur's next soft sound as the man _jolts_ forward.

He actually moans. 

Not a fake over _dramatic_ chick-flick porno moan, over the top and screaming as Wilbur finally came into his mouth—it's _genuine,_ his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he hummed, willingly swallowing without even being asked.

It doesn't taste bad.

It's not what he was expecting, at least. He figured it'd be _gross,_ make him gag and recoil back with a disgusted look spread across his face. That doesn't happen, though—he actually finds himself _enjoying_ it.

Now, whether it be because he actually likes the taste of hot cum gushing down his throat, or because he likes the taste of _Wilbur's_ hot cum gushing down his throat, he honestly has no fucking clue.

He doesn't want to find out, on account of what that might mean for Wilbur's and his friendship after this. They've already gone further then _friend's_ would go, already crossed a line that Tommy never thought he'd be crossing.

Especially with _Wilbur,_ but fuck—he's starting to think he'd do just about anything as long as Wilbur was involved.

And to think it was all over a game of gay chicken. 

Wilbur's dropped down to his knees too, bringing Tommy into a kiss—an _actual_ kiss. It's Tommy's first and it feels amazing. At first it's just the warm sensation of something against his lips, he manages to copy Wilbur's movements well also allowing Wilbur to take lead.

It's when Wilbur places a hand on Tommy's thigh, though, his mouth finally jolts open and gives the older man the access he wanted.

It's way _different_ than the kissing they were doing five seconds before, makes his head feel a little fuzzy as he allows Wilbur to explore his mouth. Slowly but surely Wilbur fully sits down, bringing Tommy onto his lap as he continued the kiss.

They only ever parted away for air, messy gasps before going back in—needy for as much touch as he could possibly get, Tommy wouldn't mind ending up _breathless_ if it meant dying like this.

Wilbur's hand slowly inches up Tommy's thigh, before he knows it Wilbur is palming at his dick, pulling away from the kiss to watch as Tommy's face _twists_ from pleasure. 

"Mm, more—." Tommy mumbled, head leaning against Wilbur's shoulder for extra support. He leaned towards Wilbur's neck, pressing soft kisses against the other's throat. 

"Manners, Tommy." Wilbur said and Tommy nearly groaned, ready to hit him on the spot—but at the same time he couldn't help but nod the moment Wilbur's thumb brushed over the slit of his cock.

So _that's_ what that felt like. To be touched by someone else, that is. _Immediately_ he moans into Wilbur's neck, not even bothering to pull away as his hands trail up Wilbur's chest. "More please, _'M_ feeling so good Wilbur—."

The moment he said Wilbur's name was the moment his nails dug into Wilbur's skin. He threw his head back, this whole sensation almost too much for him as he shifted around, struggling to stay _completely_ still.

He could feel his thighs trembling, all because Wilbur's hand was on his cock. 

"Hhh, so good so fucking good—." He mumbled out, breath becoming irregular as Wilbur softly chuckled. 

"You're doing amazing, Tommy—so fucking handsome," Wilbur said. 

Tommy's body clenched up immediately after, the sensation becoming way too much—his thighs clenched as he came into Wilbur's hand, pressing his lips against the other's throat as he moaned. 

His body slightly trembled as he released his grip on Wilbur, slowly leaning back within his lap.

The other man had his hand raised, covered in a thick coat of Tommy's _cum—the_ blond leaned in, cleaning Wilbur's hand off by sucking on his fingers. 

"Jesus fuck _Toms,_ you're driving me mad—," Wilbur mumbled out, eyes lingering on Tommy's tongue wrapping around his fingers.

When his hand was clean Tommy leaned back, licking his lips gently with a slightly hazzy look in his eyes. _"Yours_ tastes better," he mumbled out, and instantly Wilbur connected their lips together, smiling into the kiss.

"You're so fucking weird," He says, but there's the _loving_ tone to it Tommy always craves—he can't help but kiss back, quite satisfied with how the night played out. 

They stay there for awhile, just comfortable in eachother's arms—when they do end up drifiting off to bed, Tommy stays with Wilbur. In that moment nothing really matters as his friend— _possibly something more, God he hopes_ —holds him tight in his grasp, protective and loving. 


End file.
